


2B1

by breathingbear (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Come play, Crossdressing!!!!!, Crying!!!!!, FaceFucking, Facials, Feminisation, Frottage, Gagging/Choking, I think that's it - Freeform, Incest, Lube, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Spanking, Twincest, Virginity Kink, i think, marcel cries!!!!!, marcel wears knickers and lingerie what more do you want in life, on the D!!!!!!!, slight exhibitionist kink if you squint, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/breathingbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It's 7.05 am when Marcel realises he's in love with his twin brother. And oddly enough, he thinks defying against God is okay for once.</em><br/>When the bond between twin brothers becomes a lot more stronger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2B1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. What the fuck is this. I'm going to hell. Tumblr: marinekali (not figuring out the coding bs) I'm in no way condoning incest, I'm doing this for fun. I also do not own one direction (though a girl can dream) (I really would like one direction to own me though). Un-beta'd! Tell me if there are any big mistakes and I'll fix them xx.

**I** t all starts one Sunday, the Sunday before Easter; Palm Sunday. The Styles-Twist family, bar Harry Styles, has just come back home to their extremely large and flashy French Provincial-style home, after Sunday brunch, after Sunday mass at the Catholic church a little ways away. 

"Hazzy? We're home. Did you eat?" Anne Twist, the mum of the Styles twins, calls into the intercom, directed to Harry's room. 

"Yes, mum, I ate. Now don't talk to me for the rest of the day," he sent back, impassively. Anne sighed. Ever since, maybe about when her two boys started going through puberty, Harry was becoming more and more distant, and only would talk to his younger twin brother, Marcel. He wouldn't even talk to Gemma, would always tell him to bugger off when he was younger. 

He probably had another girl or boy in his room, Anne thought, a thought she didn't want to think. When Harry was 15, he came out to the entire family and their staff as bisexual. Anne and Robin had been disgusted, seen as they were raised to think anyone who ever even  _looked_ at someone of the same gender any other way than platonically, was disgusting. Marcel was thrilled, but he kept his face clear of emotions, because he had a secret of his own, which he planned to tell Harry that night. 

Later, after the whole family, bar Marcel and Harry, had fallen asleep, and their staff had left or gone to their respective rooms, Marcel crept out, into the long hallway in sock-clad feet. He went down four doors, stopping at a black-painted, chipped wooden door. He knocked softy, not wanting to wake anyone up, and heard some rustling before Harry opened the door a crack, very dim lighting shining through the small space. He was only wearing skintight, black pants. Marcel immediately blushed a pretty pink and continued to stare at the slight outlining of Harry's cock, until Harry cleared his throat. Marcel's head snapped up, and blushed even darker when he realised he had been caught. "What do y'want, Marc?" Harry's eyeliner he adamantly wore was slightly smudged around the rims of his large green eyes, eyes that bore into Marcel's identical ones. He looked... _breathtaking_ and that was  _not_ something you should be thinking about your 15-year-old punk twin brother. "Uh-I-um. Can I come in?" he stepped aside, letting Marcel in. His room was slightly messy, and Marcel's OCD kicked in and he wanted to tidy it up. 

"What'd ya want?" Harry's voice came from behind him, interrupting his trance on how he could clean it up. He whipped around, "I need to tell you something, something you can't tell mum or Robin," Harry raised a brow, but nonetheless closed the door firmly, locked it and brushed by Marcel to sit on the foot of his bed. He patted the space next to him, indicating for Marcel to sit next to him. He did so, albeit tentatively. "What deep and dark secret did you-" 

"I'm gay," Marcel interrupted. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for something. Anything; a punch, a kick, a verbal beating, Harry to run out of the room and go up two floors, burst into their parent's room to tell them. Instead he felt two strong, muscular arms wrap around his middle, under his arms. Marcel was so shocked for a moment, he couldn't even react, but came to his senses and reciprocated, weakly hugging Harry's bare frame. "That's great, Marc. I'm so glad you told me." Harry said in his ear. A few minutes passed, the brothers just relishing the hug. Eventually, Harry pulled away.

"But, you can't tell anyone. _I_ can't even tell anyone," 

"Why?"

"Because! You saw how mum and dad reacted to _you_ coming out, even though you still like girls and could marry one. I like boys! And only boys! And will only marry one. And I. I don't want them to kick me out. What if they do? Where will I go? To an, I dunno, accommodation? For gay kids who's parents kicked them out?" 

"Marcel, you're overreacting. They won't kick you out. They won't ever know, unless you,  _you_ and only you, want them to know." he realised Harry was right. He stared intently into Harry's eyes, the green colour that matched his. 

"Have, have you ever..kissed someone before?" Harry asked. Marcel shook his head no, no he hadn't. Of course he  _wanted_ to kiss people, the cute forward on the football team, that one news anchor on the Nightly News. But no one wanted to kiss him. Of  _course_ no one wanted to. He was so..so  _nerdy_. And no one wanted to kiss the nerd. With his coke bottle lens glasses, thick and square, the frames large and black. They looked like they came out of his mum's Sixth Form yearbook from like 1972. _  
_

"...do you wanna kiss me?" Harry asked. He asked this reluctantly, but he wasn't shy at all. Harry know what he liked, didn't like, even though he was only the tender age of 15. Marcel nodded at this too, and Harry dived right in. He cupped Marcel's left cheek in his hand, and slowly, slowly inched toward his lips. They were identical to Harry's own; candy floss pink, the bottom lip slightly dark than the top, full and plump, with a delicately curved cupid's bow.

Their lips pressed together, at last. They fit together perfectly, almost too perfectly, and they moved in sync. They kissed closed-mouthed for awhile, Harry leading Marcel through the way, before Harry opened his and licked at Marcel's bottom lip, tentatively, and he moaned and opened his mouth. Harry stuck his tongue right inside, licking the walls of his cheeks, massaging their tongues together, and licking his straight top row of teeth. He tasted headily like mint, whilst Marcel noted he tasted like caramel and cigarettes. 

They breathed each other in, and Harry pushed Marcel down onto the black duvet. They both were hard, no denying that, and Marcel canted his hips until to grind his hard member against Harry's hip. Harry pulled away, and Marcel whined. "Want me to get you off?" he asked and Marcel nodded fervently. Harry grinned and sat back on his haunches. "Lift your hips up, babe," Harry said, whilst he complied. Harry slid the soft, cotton blue pyjama trousers down, just below the hem of his pants, and grasped the band of his grey boxers. 

Harry dug his fingertips under the band, into Marcel's baby soft hips. Because of his asthma, Marcel can't do any physical education in school, so he's still got his baby fat, whilst boys in 5th form, Harry for example, are getting muscular and losing their baby fat. Marcel gasps at the slight pain, but it feels good. Harry pulls the band down, Marcel's hard cock slapping his matching pyjama shirt. He pulls his pants down till their where his trousers are. Marcel lets his hips down, and Harry climbs into his lap, knees straddling his hips. They both groan at Harry's clothed cock and Marcel's bare one rubbing through the flimsy fabric. 

Harry gets off his lap for a second, and stands up to pull his pants off. Whilst standing up, he goes over to the foot of the bed where Marcel's feet are hanging off the edge. He pulls his pants and trousers off, and puts them on the floor, climbing back into his earlier position. Marcel runs his hands over Harry's chest. Those hours spent in their home gym really payed off; he's got abs, albeit not very prominent ones, and his pecs are nice and hard. 

Harry slowly moves his hips back, groaning at the feel of bare cock on bare cock, and moves his hips forward. Marcel is a whimpering mess now, just from this minimal contact. Harry builds up speed, the friction so delicious he wants to cry, and with every movement of his hips, he speeds up until he's holding onto Marcel's waist because his body is rocking from his harsh movements. Marcel's face is all blotchy, his glasses fogged up from the heat on his cheekbones. There may be a few tears dried on his cheeks as well. Harry grips the hem of his sleeping shirt from where it's ridden up to just under his erect nipples, pulls it off, him leaning up so Harry can do so. Now both twins are naked, still not stilling his hips, leans down so his chest is flush against Marcel's. 

His mouth is next to Marcel's ear, and vice versa. Marcel is moaning so sweetly and so high pitched, and now it's directly in his right ear. He tightens his grip on his waist, and starts grinding down more, the friction intensifying. Marcel cries out, "Oh! _Oh!_ Oh my god, Harry, don't stop! _Please don't stop!_ I'm- _fuck_ \- I'm gonna come soon. Harder!" And it's so so so hot, so who's Harry to deny Marcel anything? 

He latches his mouth onto Marcel's jaw, sucking and biting to leave a nice love bite. He grinds his hips down  _this_ much more and his head catches underneath Marcel's and it's all over. Marcel squeaks and cums, all over his and Harry's chest, and Harry soon follows after not even a minute later. 

They lay there for a second, before Harry gets up to grab a makeup removing wipe, no doubt for his eye makeup, and wipes both of their chests and groins down, ridding of their come. "Thanks for that, Harry," Marcel says after he and Harry've gotten redressed. "Your welcome, babe. Anything for you." Marcel laughs and leaves. He climbs into bed, it now 2.06, and falls asleep that night not regretting anything. 

That was two years ago, nearly three. Since then, they've not done anything, and Marcel hasn't gotten kissed since. He feels unwanted, though, like Harry'd only done it because he pitied his younger twin. Marcel almost started to regret it after that, when he awoke that morning. He felt disgusted with himself, but deep down he liked it. _Loved_ it, even. He longed for his twin to come to his room one night, and do that same thing he'd done that night, but thus, it never happened. But it was so _wrong_ to think like that, to want your 6-minutes-elder twin to fuck you into oblivion. Sigh, he was helpless. And anyways, incest was _wrong_. It says in the Bible, Leviticus 20:17, “ _If a man takes his sister, a daughter of his father or a daughter of his mother, and sees her nakedness, and she sees his nakedness, it is a disgrace, and they shall be cut off in the sight of the children of their people. He has uncovered his sister's nakedness, and he shall bear his iniquity_." 

Do incestuous people see these kinds of things? Do they even go to _church_? Oh, he's such a hypocrite. He got off with his twin brother, for gosh sake! Oh, well Marcel doesn't even _like_ church. He doesn't feel like he belongs, not since that Sunday after the 'Incest Incident' as he refers to it in his head. He nearly threw up when he got in his pew and saw the cross of Jesus hanging above the altar. He's _despicable_. But yet, he doesn't feel guilty, or regretful, not deep inside. His "Catholic" side of his soul tells him _no this is wrong, you shouldn't want this_ , but the rebellious side of his soul, the one that came out of its shell after the Incest Incident, says _yes, you want it. It happened two years ago, and you still want him. It's not wrong if it makes you feel good_ , and slowly, everyday a bit more, he starts believing it. Now, all he's got to do is _seduce_ Harry, make him _want_ him and take his virginity away, his younger twin, and _fuck_ him into the mattress and make him _scream_ his name so loud, the _neighbours_ hear them. 

Okay, wow, he's getting carried away. But the thing is, is that he hasn't even held a full _conversation_ with Harry since that night. He might have never had a boyfriend, but he knows rejection when he sees it, or feels it. And whenever he sees his twin with his cool punk friends smoking, all he can feel, see, _taste_ , is cigarettes and caramel. He climbs the long staircase, their one of many into  their four-story mansion. Ugh. This house is too damn big for too little amount of people. There's like 200 rooms in this house. The fuck. His room is the second floor, same as Harry's, and is only about two bedrooms and two bathrooms away. He opens his door, a white wooden door. 

He pushes it open, a takes a quick look around, see if anything needs tidying. But no, it all looks the same; king sized bed in underneath the large window in the middle of wall opposite the door, his desk, with a larger monitor as well as a laptop on top, on the right wall. Doors to his closet and bathroom on the left wall. Pretty plain. Still, it was familiar, and familiar was what got Marcel through the day. He walked to his walk-in closet door, planning to change out of his church clothes. 

His hamper was next to his closet door, so he stripped down before going inside to change into something more comfortable. He unbuttoned his stiff white button up collared shirt, and set it into the half empty laundry bin. He pulled off his belt and put it on his belt rack hanging on the closet door. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them half way, to his knees. He inspected his... _knickers_. Okay, yes, Marcel might be into a little bit of cross dressing; he likes wearing women's undergarments, like knee-highs, pantihose, knickers, _a lot_ of knickers, those lingerie things, but never bras. His parents didn't know, they filled his bank account so much, he was up to his eyes in pounds. Nobody knew. It was his dirty little secret, and he planned to never tell anyone, either. 

He started wearing them a little while after the Incest Incident, he not necessarily started wearing them because of Harry, but they made him feel _pretty_. He looked it up, and he read it was normal to do this, that some guys just had a _kink_  to feel feminine. He doesn't wear any feminine "stuff" outside of undergarments, because he doesn't want it to be too obvious. 

The ones he's wearing today are brilliant lavender coloured, and they're all lace. It's also a thong, so if he moves a certain way, the lace scratches his hole and makes him shiver. He looks at himself in the large mirror next to his bathroom. He looks the same as he always does; gelled-back, side-parted chocolate coloured hair. Huge, thick-lensed, black square glasses. Green eyes. Candy floss lips. Lanky, tall figure. Love handles. Baby fat pudge on his abdomen. Lacey knickers, with the head slightly poking out because he couldn't fit it all in (that's the most modest way of saying it). 

"Hey, Marc, what do you-" Harry bursts through his door, but he cuts himself off when he sees Marcel, in nothing but his knickers, standing in front of the mirror. What. The. _Fuck_. He..he looks so... _hot_. Sexy. Delicious. _Edible_. 

Marcel whirls around, his face so red it looks nearly purple. "Uh-I-um. T-this isn't w-what it l-looks like, H-h-Harry, I-I s-swear," Marcel stammers out. Harry is just standing there, door wide open. And just _staring_ at his panties. At his semi-hard cock. 

"What are you _wearing_ , Marcel?" he walks the rest of the way inside, and shuts the door and locks it, giving it a few hard tugs to make sure it's _really_ locked. He can't having anyone walking in, at least at this point. 

Marcel thinks he looks so _sexy_ , he just wants to jump his bones and beg him to fuck Marcel as hard as he can against the wall, so hard he can't walk for hours after, whenever he sits down for the next week, he'll feel the phantom feel of Harry's cock fucking him through the mattress. And he hates himself for feeling like this. Harry's wearing a white vest that leaves _absolutely nothing to the imagination_. He can see his extremely prominent six-pack, the sharp outlines of his pecs, and his _biceps_. They look nearly edible, and Marcel has no doubts that Harry couldn't fuck his brains out. His stamina must be through the roof. He's wearing the tightest skinny jeans he's ever seen in his short life, they're black of course. His dick is now fully hard, and Marcel wants to die, wants the ground to swallow him whole and carry him to the pits of hell, because he's definitely got himself a one-way ticket there. 

Harry moves closer, so their noses are only a few centimetres apart. "You-you look _breathtaking_ , Marcel," and he wants to cry a little bit. Or a lot a bit. He's so mortified, being caught wearing _knickers_ , for Christ sake. And now Harry is taking the mickey? Trying to butter him up, only so he can make the blows hurt worse. So, the only logical thing he can do, of course, is to burst into tears and cover his face with his hands. "Woah-woah, what's wrong, babe? You don't need to be embarrassed. I think it's _dead sexy_." and he snaps his his head up from his hands so fast, Marcel swears his neck cracks. He lifts a tear-covered hand and slaps Harry so hard, even he feels a second-hand bite of the pain. He's completely surprised with himself, for slapping Harry, and slapping him really _really_ hard. "What the _hell_ , Harry? You think you can just come in here, and try to have me on? Well, nope. No, it's not working. I won't get hurt by you, again. So just leave, if your only intention is to take the mickey out on me, but I _won't have it_. Yeah, I like wearing knickers, and thongs, and knee-highs, and lingerie but that's just who I am. Do you see me making fun of you for having seven million tattoos? No. Do I make fun of you for smoking, or for liking black coloured stuff? No. So you have no _right_ to make fun of me." Marcel was breathless after his rant, his chest heaving up and down.

Harry was cradling his cherry red cheek (the colour matches his lips, Marcel thinks, but immediately inwardly reprimands himself for thinking it), and staring at Marcel incredulously. "N-no, Marcel. I wasn't having you on, I would _never_! I love you too much. I genuinely love it. It's so, so, _so_ fucking _hot_ and I just want to _ravish_ you." Harry moves back in front of Marcel, his lips _millimetres_ in front of Marcel's. His moves his hands to grip Marcel's arse, his extremely large, identical to Marcel's own, covering the entire expanse. He massages them, and moves his fingers to the thong. 

He pulls it aside, and runs his middle finger down his cleft. Marcel shivers, and Harry stops his movements. Right at his hole. Before doing anything else, Marcel whispers, "Kiss me," and that's all Harry needs. He lurches forward, and locks his lips onto Marcel's. He sticks his tongue in, without asking for permission. Not like he needed it anyway. He runs his finger, bone dry, over Marcel's hole. He shivers and presses closer to Harry. Harry pulls his hands away, causing the knickers to go halfway back in place, and grips Marcel's hips, shoving him blindly to Harry's right and against the wall. 

Harry shoves Marcel firmly against the wall, no way he could get out, but that's 110% okay with Marcel. Harry grips his bumcheeks once more, spreading them apart. Marcel shivers at the cool air exposed to his asshole. Still keeping Marcel's cheeks spread, Harry slides his hands to his thighs, and grips, and lifts up, lifting Marcel up. Marcel squeaks, and wraps his legs around his waist. He wraps his arms around Harry's neck, too. One hand holding Marcel soundly in place, he takes his free hand, his right hand, and locates Marcel's hole again, rubbing it dry. Marcel moans, high and sweet, and grinds against Harry's white shirt. 

Harry slips just his middle fingertip inside, dry, and Marcel breaks the kiss, tilting his head back against the wall, his eyes closed. He groans, low and guttural now, so Harry slips more of his finger inside, past the second knuckle. He pulls it out until just the fingernail is left inside, and shoves it back inside unceremoniously. Marcel yelps, "Oh, _God_ , Harry! Ugh, _more_. _Please_ ," and who is Harry to deny him? He shoves his finger in at an even more fast past, the friction delicious and he's overborne with it. "Can I give you a blow job?" Marcel starts, but Harry makes a reluctant face. "Please, please, please. I want it so bad. I want to feel you in my mouth. I want to choke on your cock, gag on it. But I won't stop. You can even fuck my face. I'll let you, boy would I." And. Harry is only man. A 17-year-old horny one. 

He lets Marcel down slowly, and latches onto his lips as soon as he's on level ground. They make out messily, fervently, passionately. Marcel breaks the kiss and sinks to his knees, his bare skin rubbing against the wood. He unbuttons Harry's trousers, and _yanks_ them down, letting them pool around his bare ankles. He's wearing skintight pants, like he was that night, but they're grey now. Harry pulls his vest off, and pulls away for a moment to pull his trousers the rest of the way off. He moves to pull his boxers off, but Marcel whines so he leaves them on. He steps back into his earlier place, and Marcel puts his hot, hot mouth on the head, through his pants. He sucks the head the best he can and Harry groans, placing his left hand in Marcel's hard, mussing it up, and places his right hand against the wall. 

Marcel wraps his hands around the backs of Harry's thighs, and leaves little kitten licks up and down the shaft. "Come on, Marc, just do it." Marcel pulls back, and looks at his boxers; smirking at the dark grey patches made from his mouth. He looks up, and Harry makes the mistake of looking down.

Marcel looks absolute _sinful_ ; his hair is mussed, and its pushed back, and it looks dead _sexy_ in some weird nerd way. His lips are spit slicked, and redder than the fires of hell, his glasses are fogged up, only half of them clear. His eyes are clouded by lust and _want_ and Harry just wants to wreck him until he's nothing but a whimpering, moaning, sweaty mess and _knows_ nothing outside of Harry's name, screaming it repetitiously like a broken record. He wants his red and blotchy face to be covered in Harry's cum. To see it drip off into his bird-like collarbones. Wants him to lick his cum-covered lips, savouring the heady taste. 

He wants to wants to absolutely _defile him_ , wants to take his virginity and put it in a pendant. Wear it proudly, and everyone, _everyone_ would know _Harry Styles took his twin brothers virginity_. He'd be proud, that's something you have to cherish. 

Marcel pulls his boxers down, and he steps out of them, throwing them somewhere. His hard cock slaps against his abs, precome already leaking out. Marcel gapes at it. It's far larger than his own, the girth nearly too large for Marcel to wraps his fingers all the way around. He sticks the head in his mouth immediately in his mouth, sucking hard. Harry moans so loudly, " _God fucking dammit_ , Marcel. Your mouth feel _so fuckin_ g good. God, I want to _wreck you_." Marcel hums at this and Harry's hand works its into his hair again. His shoves Marcel down, not giving him any time to relax his throat. 

He stops halfway, not wanting to completely overwhelm the kid. Marcel gags, the girth hurting his jaw, but he loves it. It makes this feel more real. Harry moans when he gags, to feel his throat straining against the intrusion. He lets Marcel get comfortable, him sliding up and down, each time going down a millimetre more. After five minutes, he pulls off. "Fuck my face," he says bluntly. Harry nearly swallows his tongue. "Y-you sure?" He asks, just to double check. 

Marcel nods, and he grabs Marcel's jaw firmly in his hand and forces him to open his mouth. With his empty left hand, he guides his cock to his lips, smearing precum. He pushes into the tight, wet heat and immediately groans. He pushes into until half, which is still a lot, is in and works his way up, until he's moving quickly back and forth, pushing his dick so far down, Marcel's nose sticks into his happy trail. He moves both hands into Marcel's hair, tightly gripping it. Marcel moans, and the vibrations reverberate into Harry's body, causing him to throw his head back and moan so loudly, he's surprised no one has knocked on the door yet. 

He uses his hands in Marcel's hair to pull his head back and forth on his dick. He looks down and nearly busts a nut a the sight. Marcel looks up when he feels eyes on him, and identical green orbs lock. Harry wants to stab someone, the sight of Marcel hurts him. His hair is sticking out wildly because of Harry's doing. His cheeks are so red, their nearly purple. His glasses are fogged up still, so Harry pulls them off and throws them in the general direction of his bed. Now he can clearly see his eyes. Their bright, but red, watery from gagging and choking. Tears keep falling, namely when his nose touches his stomach. His cheeks have dried tears on them, something he hadn't noticed before.

He wipes them away. His lips may be the best part; they're so red, and look so kissable. Harry wonders how numb they are, if Marcel can even feel them. He hopes he can. He moves one hand to cup his hollowed cheeks. He can feel himself in his mouth and if that's not one of the hottest things ever, he doesn't know what is. Marcel moves his hands from where their on the backs of Harry's thighs, and moves one to grab Harry's remaining hand in his hair. 

He entangles their fingers together, and grips Harry's right bum cheek and moves until Harry's dick is all the way down his throat, and his nose is squished in the hard muscle of his stomach. He grabs Harry's right hand on his cheek, them still holding eye contact this whole time, and grabs it and puts it at the bottom of his throat and pushes his fingers in. "Is...is that my cock? That bump?" Marcel nods the best he can around his cock. 

He pulls back, and croaks out, "Come on my face," his voice is shot to hell, and he's going to have a sore throat for days. Worth it. Harry groans, and puts his right hand back in Marcel's messed up hair, his left and Marcel's right still entangled. He yanks Marcel's head rough, roughest he's done and pumps in once, twice, thrice and Marcel moans, moans loudly and it's all over. 

Harry pulls out, pulls out so fast Marcel's teeth scrape his dick and starts cumming, almost before he can get his dick in front of Marcel's face. It goes _every where_ ; on his chin, lips ( _score_ ), cheeks, eyebrows, even his hair. It's the hardest he's came in awhile, and he sinks onto the floor, in front of Marcel, after he's done. 

"You...you were absolutely _phenomenal_ babe. That... that was the best blow job I've ever received. I almost don't believe it was your first." he says breathlessly. Marcel smiles weakly at him, and Harry dives in, licking the cum from his chin, his cheek bones, his eyebrows, forehead, and wipes the cum from his hair and sticks his cum fingers in his mouth. He leaves Marcel's mouth for last. He closes his eyes, and attaches his lips to Marcel's slick ones. He taste like cum and skin, and that ever present mint. He swallows his come, himself tasting salty and heady. He grimaces. He needs a cigarette. 

Harry looks down to Marcel's dick, and it's so red it's slightly _fuchsia_ coloured. He hoists himself and Marcel up, "You got any lube?" He asks, praying he does so he doesn't have to get redressed and grab his own, or worse use _spit_. Fortunately, he nods and says "left side drawer" equally breathless. Harry walks over to said drawer and grabs a lightly-used bottle of lube. He raises a brow at it, wondering why it's used if Marcel is a virgin. _Is_ he a virgin? Has he gotten fucked before? "Marc, are you a virgin?" He blushes, even though his mouth was on Harry's dick not even twenty minutes ago. "Yes," 

"Why is this used then?" 

"I. Um. Fingered myself once?" Harry smirks and walks over to Marcel. He pulls him up by the underarms and shoves him against the wall, "Did you like it?" Marcel nods, "Was thinking of it being your fingers instead of mine, came so hard." Harry groans and coats his first three fingers in lube. He snicks the bottle closed, and sets it on the floor. 

Harry, the best he can with his clean hand, places it on Marcel's right arse cheek. "Jump," Harry says, and Marcel does, wrapping his legs around his waist. With his clean pinky finger on his lubed hand, he pulls the thong from his cleft once more. Harry wastes no time shoving his index finger in, not bothering to go slow. 

Marcel groans loudly, and bangs his head against the wall. It's a miracle no one's banged on the door yet. He doesn't want to hurt Marcel, at least not that much, so he waits a few minutes before ever so slightly breaching Marcel's hole with his middle finger. "C'mon Harry, just do it," he says. Harry still slowly slips the finger in, his forefinger never slowing down, before his middle finger reaches the third knuckle. He pauses his movements for a second, before violently thrusting his two fingers in and out. 

Marcel is gasping and letting out high-pitches mewls, fingernails biting into Harry's shoulders. "G-god Harry, you feel so— _uh_. Feel so good." he attacks their lips together in a messy kiss, biting down on spit-soaked lips, teeth clashing together. His back is arched, giving Harry better access to Marcel's hole. "Ready for a third, Harry, _please_  just _do it_." Harry warily runs the tip of his ring finger over the wrinkled skin. He slows his thrusts with his first two fingers, and edges his third finger in. Marcel moans like a fucking porn star whenever he gets to the last knuckle. 

He moves them in and out, building a speedy pace. Marcel reaches down to grab at his cock through his knickers, but Harry hisses out a "no". Marcel whines and arches his back even more. "Ready for me, baby? Ready for my hard cock?" Marcel squeaks, his face pained-almost looking, and nods. Harry smiles and slowly pulls his fingers out, them making a squelching noise from the lube. 

He lets Marcel down again, keeping a firm hand on his hip so he doesn't collapse, and grabs the lube from where it was set aside. "Condom or no condom?" Harry actually doesn't have sex hardly at all, contrary to popular belief. He's only had it three times, the first two with a virgin and the third with a slightly-experienced uni boy. "No condom," Marcel chokes out. His face is still that bright, bright red and Harry takes pride knowing it was his doing that caused it. Harry grins and lubes up his bare cock, groaning at the feel. 

He wipes his lubed-hand on an article of clothing nearby, his hard flushed cock bobbing against his abs. He gets back to Marcel, and hoists him up again, being wary of his lubed cock. He skilfully pulls the thong aside, the annoying band constantly in the way, but the scratchy lace is such a turn on, and the bright lavender colour looks so gorgeous against Marcel's pale flesh, flushed with arousal. He guides his dick to his hole, breaching the hole with the head. "Come _on_ , Harry, more!" Marcel begs, and he looks close to tears, so Harry speeds his movements up and pushes in until just the head is in, not wanting to overbear Marcel with the extremities of pain and pleasure. Harry watches his face carefully, waiting for the pinched-look on Marcel's face is subside a little. Once it does, and Marcel starts grinding his hips a little, Harry pushes in more until he's 3/4 of the way inside.  " _Oh my god! Harry, please, please more. Oh—god!_ " Marcel screamed, and how is no one hearing this?! Harry rams the rest of the way inside, not even getting bothered by Marcel screaming out, in pleasure and pain. He keeps himself the rest of the way in, letting Marcel adjust since this _is_ his first time. And—oh my god. Harry has just taken his twin brother's virginity. What the fuck. He's got himself a one-way ticket to hell. Well, at least he'll meet Marcel down there. 

"Harry—move. Please" he thrusts his hips forward in short little bursts, making Marcel whimper. The little bursts quickly gravitate into full-on thrusts, making Marcel scream out once more. _Jesus Christ_ , he's so responsive. Harry stops temporarily to change positions; he hooks his elbows underneath Marcel's knees, and pulls them up, so Marcel is folded in half. The angle is _so_ much better. "Holy shit, baby, you feel _so good_." After a few thrusts in this new position, Harry finds Marcel's prostate, dead. On. " _F-fuck! Oh my god! Oh-uh! S-so good! Oh, please. Harder! Please, Harry, harder. Harry!_ " Marcel continues to scream out a litany of jumbled curses and moans of Harry's name. This kid is enlarging his ego with every second. "G-gonna. Gonna cum! Please Harry!" Marcel yells. His face, every single millimetre, is etched with pleasure—no _ecstasy_. " _No_. You will not come unless I give you permission to do so. You understand, baby?" Marcel whines, but nods. Harry decides they need to move this somewhere else, preferably the bed. "Can you walk, love?" Marcel shakes his head no, so Harry dislodges his elbows from Marcel's knees, which then Marcel wraps his legs promptly around Harry's waist, and grabs his arsecheeks in both hands, pulling Marcel's chest flush to his own, his dick still far up Marcel's arse. 

He keeps his hands on Marcel's bum, and Marcel wraps his arms under Harry's, snuggling his face in the crook of his neck. Harry walks the short distance to Marcel's bed, and carefully lowers him onto it, on his back, his dick _still_ inside. He pulls out, much to Marcel's displeasure, and says a short, "Hands and knees". Marcel scrambles to do so, and cures his back obscenely so his firm little pert arse sticks out. _Eureka!_   Harry is an absolute _genius_ , holy _shit_. He grabs Marcel's bum in his large hands, hands wide enough to cover the entire expanse of skin. He grips and massages it, Marcel nearly _purring_ with the feel of it. He lets go abruptly, causing it to jiggle a little ( _fuck_ ) and runs just his right palm over the right cheek. _Smack!_ Harry spanks his ass, hard, revelling in the aftermath-jiggle. Marcel cries out, arms collapsing under his, face now resting on his forearms. His back is now curved so much is looks nearly _painful_. "Huh? You like that baby?" he says, which earns him a nod. "You want more?" getting an even more frantic nod. He slaps his right arsecheek again, and keeps spanking it six more times, before abruptly spanking the left arsecheek with his left palm. " _Fuck!_ " Marcel cries, and uses every last millilitre of self-control for him not to come in that second.

Harry keeps alternating, between left and right cheeks, always an erratic pattern. Harry's losing himself in the delicious cracking sound that reverberates throughout the room every time his palm hits the ever-reddening skin. And for no reason at all, well it was probably sparked by the way the crimson colour of Marcel's ass contrasted so beautifully, gorgeously, with the bright lavender colour of his thong, he stops spanking and thrusts in. _That_ gets a full-on, wracked, _absolutely wrecked_ sob out of Marcel. And after that, it's like an opened dam, with each body-wracking thrust, it gets a body-wracking sob out of Marcel. He's crying so hard, he's barely getting any oxygen in and spots swim in his vision. But Harry's like a wild animal, cannot stop for anything once he's started. Marcel's face is turned to the left on his forearms, and Harry wishes he hadn't looked because he nearly busts a nut _again_ from seeing Marcel's face _again_. His face is drenched in tears and sweat, his cheeks still cherry-red blotched, and his lips are cracked and bleeding, probably from biting them, and they're covered in spit. He's got snot coming out of his nose, which should be gross, but it's strangely hot and extremely erotic. His hair is all frizzy, and curly slightly from the sweat accumulated. "You wanna come baby? Wanna come all over your duvet? Get it all messy? What will the cleaners think? Think they'll know I fucked you good and hard, right here on this bed?" Marcel nods so hard, Harry thinks he's going to get whiplash. But he's not done _yet_ , not quite. He keeps up the extremely rough pace, him finding Marcel's prostate again, getting himself a choked off sob and a gasp, and starts spanking him again, the nearly-numb skin colouring fiery red again. And finally, Marcel he's hears the words he's been dying to hear this whole time, a simple, one-syllable, four-lettered word: "Come." And he does, completely untouched. All the build up, from the kissing, the foreplay, the teasing, the blowjob, the fingering, the prostate-stabbing, etcetera, has lead to this moment. And, _god_ , there is so. Much. Cum. It's gathered into a small pool, a few odd-spurts up near his chin. 

And the _pleasure_. No, more than that. The _ecstasy_. The _delectation_. It's _so_ , _so_ , _so_ intense and Marcel just wants to live in the feeling of it forever. He blacks out for a few seconds, the white-hot pleasure subsiding for a few moments before re-surging, and he can't stop shaking, even after he's finished. He lets Harry abuse him the way he pleases, abusing his hole further, before going as deep as possible, and coming, painting Marcel's walls with translucent white substance. He slows, before firmly pulling out, Marcel crying feebly, and drops next to Marcel, breathing heavily. He looks to his right, seeing Marcel still in the same position, shaking like a leaf. "Come on, babe. Lay down." He complies, laying on his right side. Harry moulds his body to Marcel's; Harry's chest flush to Marcel's back, and lifts a legs to hitch over Marcel's hip, pulling him closer. He pulls him even closer with his left arm, and sticks his right arm under him, spreading his body heat everywhere he's connected to him. They both catch their breath, before Marcel croaks out, "That was the best thing I've ever felt in my life." Harry chuckles, and dislodges his arms to pull the duvet down, lifting Marcel's at-the-moment useless and boneless body up to do so. Once under the warm and fluffy duvet, Harry curls up again next to Marcel, never minding the cum of Marcel's torso. About ten minutes pass, before Harry crawls down to Marcel's lower torso. He gently, mindful of his sensitive cock and hole, pulls the soiled panties down. "Well, these are messy." Harry says softly, before licking and sucking Marcel's cum off his knickers. Marcel watches with cloudy eyes, making a extremely soft noise of arousal. Harry gets up, throws the knickers in the hamper, before setting off to clean, knowing Marcel is in absolutely no position to _move_ , much less clean. Damn, this kid is a real boost to his ego. 

He goes over to wear the foreplay/blowjob/fingering/wall-fucking happened, picking Marcel's nerdy glasses up, along with the lube. He puts the lube in his bedside drawer, and sets his glasses on top. He grabs his clothes, dressing himself so he can go over to his room quickly, and whispers a quick, "Popping into my room, be back in a second." before unlocking the door and shutting it. He breathes in the clean, pine-scented air of the hallway, going four doors down to his room. He rips his duvet off, not wanting to use a cum-soiled one, and folding it. He grabs his green apple scented air fresher, knowing Marcel's room must reek of sex. He goes back to his room, not seeing a single soul still. Good, Harry thinks, I hope I scared them off. He opens the door and is smacked with the stench of sweat and cum. He sprays the air fresher around, before ripping off the duvet. Marcel groans, reaching for the covers back. Harry covers him back up with his black cover, stuffing the dark blue one as best as he can in the hamper. 

He goes into the loo, rinsing a flannel under warm water. He goes back, undresses, stuffing his clothes in the hamper, before washing the dried-come off Marcel's tummy. Finding a drawer with pants, he grabs a pair for both of them, slipping them on and so, so carefully and tediously slipping the other pair on Marcel. Harry flicks off the light before snuggling into Marcel and falling asleep. 

~

Marcel wakes up the next morning, before Harry. 7.05 am. It's a Monday morning, but it's also teacher meetings day, so they have school off. He thinks back to what happened the day before, and everything comes rushing back to him. He smiles, because he doesn't regret any of it, and hopefully neither does Harry. A cold feeling rushes through his body. He's in love with Harry. Not brotherly-love, like full-commitment, we're-definitely-getting-married, love. But for once, he doesn't feel any regret, or anything other than happiness. And God wouldn't want this, he thinks. But for once, _once_ in his short-lived life, he thinks that it's _okay_ to not do what God wants, not to live his everyday life, straight out of what the Bible says, and it feels.. it feels like a huge weight lifted off his shoulders, like he's Atlas, holding the sky on his shoulders, but the sky is lifted _off_ his shoulders, permanently. And it's so...so _exhilarating_. And he just wants to get on top of the tallest building there ever could be and shout, shout out and feel it with every fibre of his being, that he's _in love_ with his twin brother, loves him with everything he has, and it's okay, and it'll be okay and life will _work out_ for once. 

It's 7.05 am when Marcel realises he's in love with his twin brother. And oddly enough, he thinks defying against God is okay for once.

 _fin_  

**Author's Note:**

> GAHHH. IT'S OVER. This is the longest thing I've written, so far, as of 21st July. I really hoped you enjoyed!!! I'm soo tired and it's like 5pm hahah my life. I really worked hard on this, and it's 7.2k of, nearly, PWP so. Please kudos and comment! Thank youu I love you ♥.


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